Sacrifice
by Akirasamoji
Summary: To watch would be unbearable, as would to be watched. His hand slid tenderly across those green eyes, shielding them from view...The walls seeped with blood...It would all be over soon...half dead from blood loss...Repentance began...For Weiss...


**Sacrifice:**

Disclaimer: I do not own Weiss Kreuz.

Authors Note: A bit depressive. Don't read this if you're looking for something light or fluffy. Constructive criticism and reviews welcome.

Inspired by fanart, link at the end of the fic.

Thanks Akira

It was too late. There was no other way. The German paced down the hallway slowly, his footfalls echoing in the absorbent silence. The only light was that of the waning moon, slanting in through the windows as he walked, creating pools to lead him to his destination.

He paused at the final one before the door, gaze held by the stillness of the world viewed at night. Moonlight reflecting off of pools of water, making leaves and grass shine unnaturally. Utter stillness, as the world held its breath; a most appropriate night for murder.

No turning back.

Schuldig turned slowly, hand resting on the cool metal, turning the knob and with a soft click, gaining admittance to a room of utter darkness, devoid of even the pale moonlight, save for what spilled through the doorway, lighting on a magnificent creature. His tall, supple frame was confined, forced on his knees with his arms twisted painfully behind him, mouth set in a grim line. Blonde curls fell around his face, framing a pair of wary green eyes which opened at his entrance.

Unhesitating, the flame-haired German stepped forward and towered over the blonde a moment. A tentative touch to one bruised cheek, and then he was half kneeling, pulling the blonde into his arms, his fervent kiss. He received no response. Withdrawing, he saw betrayal in those accusing eyes.

Compelled to say something, anything to redeem himself, Schuldig fell on the blonde, hugging him tightly. "Kätzchen . . . I will save you the only way I know how," The German rested his forehead against the others, closing his eyes. It had to be done. There was no other way. Dry, cracked lips brushed his briefly, then fell away as the blonde dropped his head, eyes closed, too weak to lift it again.

Running his fingers over those soft curls, the German kissed his forehead and rose, drawing a knife as he did so. It was the only way. He gently lifted the blonde's head, as he positioned himself behind him. To watch would be unbearable, as would to be watched. His hand slid tenderly across those green eyes, shielding them from view.

Blood flowed, staining his white clothes scarlet, draining life away, making his hands slick with blood. He let the knife fall and sunk to his knees, pulling his love into his lap; holding, comforting.

It would all be over soon.

Time passed as the warm body in his arms grew still and cool, life spilled over them and pooling on the floor, adding to the already stained hands of Schuldig. But no more. No more.

Birdsong roused him from his trance, faint golden light peeking through the door now, rather then the secretive light of the moon.

Time was of the essence now. Rising, lay the battered and bruised body down gently and he retrieved the knife. A whisper of love echoed in the room as he shut the door, pacing back down the long hallway. The morning air stirred the trees, sending leaves and dust into the air with a violence. His work was not done. Yet.

Pacing to his next destination, he found a bloodbath. Laughter startled from his lips as he gazed at his dead leader. It was pointless. Pointless! At least one had died in vain. He had murdered to relieve inevitable pain, which would never have come. No more.

It would all be over soon.

The walls seeped with blood. Two lay in the crimson mess. So, the future finally caught up with Oracle. He should have learned long ago that a kitten like Abyssinian would not simply give in and be beaten; especially when he had assistance. The swordsman lay half on his side, a line of cool blood ran from his mouth, dripping on the stained floor one hand reached out, clasping another's in his hand.

Siberian lay face down, staring sightlessly, blood pooled about him. Schulding knelt in the cool blood and gently touched the redhead's pale face, regretful that those violet eyes would never again open. He lifted the redhead and retreated, to place him by Balinese. He retraced his steps and closed the brunette's eyes, granting him peace. Laying him out beside Abyssinian, he left them together. They deserved one another.

One left, one more door to pass through, one more horror to see. Opening the door, he saw havoc. The floor was cracked, the sparse furniture reduced to unrecognizable rubble. The ceiling had collapsed in one corner and one of the walls sagged, threatening to give way at the slightest disturbance.

The bleached Irishman lay crumpled below that wall, his form twisted grotesquely, eyes bulging in irrefutable rage, frozen in the grip of death.

A flit of movement, of life caught his gaze, and he turned, finding the final kitten, and his youngest teammate. A dry rasp filled his ears, one he hadn't heard until just now, though it must have always been there, as he focused on the Kitten. He was struggling for life, blood seeping from more than one wound. Those blue eyes were locked on him, one hand pressed over his stomach, the other braced on the floor, next to. . .

Prodigy was sprawled on the tile floor, also bloodied, but breathing more consistently than the Kitten. A brief touch was enough, Nagi stirred. The German left them, retracing his steps. It was only fitting. Time was up.

No time to think. No time for doubt. Schuldig gripped the handle of the knife and sliced once—twice, gasping as fresh, hot blood gushed from his forearms, mingling with the congealing blood on the floor; unnecessarily spilled blood.

Time ended.

Repentance began.

Prodigy woke quite suddenly, shooting to his feet with hardly the flicker of an eyelid. Berserker lay dead before him. Casting about desperately he found Bombay, beside him half dead from blood loss. The building shuddered, rumbling under his feet. Swiftly, he gathered Omi up and fled.

Tears spilled freely, sobs echoing in the quiet apartment. They were gone; claimed by death. Omi Tsukiyono held his head in his hands, unable to hold back the grief. A hand touched his shoulder gently, an unvoiced companion to his pain. Calico provided support silently.

Hours later, the tears long dried on his cheeks, Bombay typed. His friends, his love, his family for all those years; were gone. Only one remained. Calico.

"We'll make them proud, ne?"

" . . . Un. . . yeah," a tiny smile lit Bombay's face. He would go on. He—they would live. Continue the shadowed path, preventing plans and plots, assassinating evil, protecting innocence . . . at the sacrifice of their own. What remained. At the ultimate sacrifice of losing life.

Yes, they would live.

For Weiss.

Fin

A/N: Well, that was quite depressing wasn't it? Readers loved. Reviewers loved more. Give me your opinions and receive e-cookies. :D

Inspiring fanart (artist unknown): http/img214.imageshack.us/img214/8776/yojishuldigaf6.jpg

Akira


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